


Glamorous Woman

by litspinels



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2019-10-22 08:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17659670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litspinels/pseuds/litspinels





	Glamorous Woman

Two days, she thinks, but he wakes up sooner.

She wakes up too, nowhere like she was when her eyes closed and drifted off to sleep, only half sitting on a square tin can that didn’t look like it could hold all her weight. No longer was she sitting on the chair by the bed, no.

 _On_ the bed, she lay on her side facing him, the speed of her eyes cracking open not deterred by want of sleep. Her nose was a breath away from his chest; from here she could see clearly the bullet wounds from years ago, an ordeal she never had the courage to ask. An assumption, from his own words, that he had beat those survival instincts in his own body, comes to mind.

Carefully she brought her fingers over his skin, lightly touching the strange shape that only a bullet could leave. He was going to get another one of those, on his back this time, and on his side. She had patched him up as best she could. It might not look the same, but it will scar nonetheless.

Two shallow bullets removed from him, thankfully nothing deeper than an inch; Shion’s voice over the communicator giving her instructions. Akane had never been so afraid, knowing that she had taken it upon herself to deal with his wounds rather than bringing him to a hospital—she had to choose which risk she was willing to take, and she preferred taking charge of his life without knowing what to do with it rather than leave it to someone who could so easily take his life away.

She could feel the heavy weight of his arm around her waist, and she knows she didn’t sleepwalk her way to the small bed at all.

He drew breath; chest expanding beneath her fingers and she smiles, relief washing over her face. If he had enough strength to carry her and lay her next to him like this then he must have recovered far better than she had thought. She snuggled closer, reaching behind to pat the bandage she had put on his back. Her hand slipped under the arm that encased her, running her fingers through his side to touch the other wound that she had dressed.

“Does it hurt?” she whispered, half-wondering why she knew he was already awake. Maybe it was the conscious pull of his fingers on her shirt the moment her hands started wandering, or the heavy weight of his arm warning her not to try to get up. She rose up to meet his half-opened eyes, eyebrows rising slightly in an affirmative yes, before closing them again. Taking the hint, she snuggled closer to him and went back to sleep.

***

The next morning Akane began looking through the cupboards in the kitchen, finding a can of tuna among five that wasn’t expired. There was enough water to wash off the slight dust on a chipped mug and a plastic spoon she had settled for; those over a stainless steel bowl that looked like it’s been a vessel of savory meals that stuck dry and could not be washed without scrubs and detergent—now would be a good time to eat and not be sick.

He sat with his back to her, leaning forward slightly. The image sparked a bit of sadness in her chest; the weak light of the room kissing his cheek as he turned his head at the sound of her footsteps. His smile was reminiscent of the one he gave, not so long ago, when he was injured and flanked by men who needed to support him so that he could walk.

“This was all I could find,” she smiled, handing him the mug before sitting next to him. He took it silently while she focused her attention on his side where the bandage now stained with blood. “Guess the wound isn’t dry yet…”

Curious, he handed her the mug after he put a spoonful in his mouth, lifting his right arm to peek at the bandage himself.

“I’ll live,” he replied, opening his mouth when she gave him another spoonful to eat. The tuna didn’t taste bad; more like it lacked flavor. The chunks effortlessly fell apart in her mouth when she ate her share, passing the mug back to him in silence.

Outside the clouds have taken a darker shade of grey in the wake of what looked like a sudden and swift downpour. The effect was instant; cool air breezed through the small room, seeping through his skin and lifting the strands of her hair. He found himself watching her watch the rain.

***

_You don’t understand, Ginoza-san. He can protect himself anywhere._

_But only I can protect him here._

***

“How’s that one?”

“Tastes like paper but,” she couldn’t keep her face steady when his face fell at her words. It was a slow day but he managed, in a span of only a few hours, to get them some rice and nori from a “neighbor” next door.

“I was joking—and it’s not like we can complain, Kogami-san. Pretty sure you didn’t pay for this.”

She waved the half-bitten nori to his face while he tried and failed to fit all the rice in their chipped mug. The cold had not left even when it stopped raining outside, and he wanted to keep the heat of the rice for her rather than leave it in the small plate they had been given. Without permission he took the nori in her hand and wrapped the leftover rice, making it into a bite-sized ball in his hand.

He had only managed to beg for eight pieces of nori and now it was down to seven. Considering they only had a mug-full of rice it would seem enough.

“While it’s slightly hot,” he handed her what would be their lunch for today. She ate with no complaints while he rolled some more. Sure enough, he felt guilty for having to serve her like this, when she could have so easily gone home and had a proper meal. Tokyo was a good four hours away by train if she could reach the main road and take a thirty minute bus to the station. How they got here in the first place when he was bleeding quite profusely was a mystery, but they wouldn’t be here if she didn’t really listen to his words. After all, being this peaceful with her around— being alive, even—it was he who benefitted the most.

“You can have that,” she said, referring to the last rice ball. It was her own way of repaying him when he gave her what was left of the tuna that morning.

Smiling, he popped the rice ball in his mouth.

“Tastes like paper.”

“Told ya.”

***

Her hands were soft.

She sat on the counter while dressing his wounds, humming softly a tune he didn’t recognize. The last of their medical supplies lay next to her on the counter. It was like an indicator, a subtle warning that he is running out and there was simply no way to prolong this any further, even when it had only been twenty-four hours.

“Someone waiting for you outside the border?”

“You’re gonna get in trouble, you know,” he warned. He intended to say it like he meant it, but with his back turned and her hand resting so casually at his side; so close, so comfortable, so _normal_ —he failed to make a convincing statement.

He stepped away rather abruptly, like he couldn’t wait for the firm pat above his skin, telling him she was done with patching him up. He felt ungrateful, not deserving of all this care. She let him know otherwise with the softness in her gaze. No prejudice or ill-feeling, in spite of all his past mistakes.

“You’re more like Makishima than I thought,” he commented, more for want of something to say. In fact, he already knew her reply before he could reach the sink to fill the chipped mug with tap water.

“The only thing we have in common is a clear Psycho-Pass.”

It was like he was saying it, in his head, at the same time the words came out of her mouth. He wanted to accuse her, to tell her straight up that this was wrong. Where was the woman who wanted to arrest him? Why did she give up wanting to take him to custody? She was going to use her Psycho-Pass to aid a fugitive. There was simply no way he could allow her to do that.

His throat was dry, before the mug touched his lips and the water flowed, and it remained that way after he drank two mugs full. This was all his fault.

“Did I insult you?”

Again, he knew the answer. He wasn’t sure for how long he was going to ramble on with small talk. His eyes fell to the counter, to the thin roll of bandages, the empty wrappers, the now-used syringe. There was reason not to look directly at her face.  

“I’m not _you_.” She laughed, and he realized bitterly how much he was going to miss the sound of that.

Stepping forward, finally, with no hesitation, he ended up standing in between her legs, which dangled loosely with no shoes on her feet, still wearing the white shirt, the belt, the skirt. Though dressed informally, suffice to say he’d never have had to see her this way; she was still an Inspector, and he a fugitive. 

“I should have listened to Gino.”

For the first time since he woke up she had touched him again, tracing the scars on his face that were beginning to fade. They were still there, and she still saw them, but the pads of her fingers did not lay him blame. His mistakes were piling up with every soft caress over his skin. He did not want to need this.

A hand cupped his cheek while the other rested on his shoulder, a light weight, one that brought him comfort. For someone so small she had enclosed him in this space, drawing him away from his thoughts and bringing him to now. His palms found purchase on the countertop, bracing himself for the collision that he wanted to happen.

Eyes bright, she leaned closer, still able to smell his cigarettes a day after he’d never had any. It was intoxicating.

“When did we ever?”

He was proud of the smile on her face. Maybe there was more of him in her than he would care to admit.

“Never.”

***

 


End file.
